April 4, 2012

I don't even know what to say.....

Yesterday, SOMEBODY texted me and said my blog was boring because I hadn't updated. Well, excuuuuuuuse me. This past weekend I was in Atlanta (just got back last night.) And the weekend before that I was in jail. Yes, again. But this time for 3 nights and this time, I got charged/processed/fucked.

So here's the story.

Two Fridays ago, I had planned on having a calm night staying in and sipping my weekend vodka drank with Anna. I worked out on the roof and as I was working out, my friend Peter texted me saying he was going to come over because the weather was nice and we could drink on the roof overlooking Ikea. Then as I was doing mountain climbers, I had the genius idea of just walking to the bar (since I skimped on cardio) and having a couple of drinks, coming back around 11 so I could go to sleep at a decent hour to do work the next day.

I get ready and wear some clean white booty shorts, a slutty pink lacy top, and this blue/white sweater thing that looks like a flappy vagina. Oh and my Sperrys since we are walking to the bar.

Everything was going so well. Peter even said, "You are being boring tonight" because I was so calm. I was working very hard at stifling the Iroar-demon. I even made a friend...a very pretty Nicaraguan girl whose boyfriend I accidentally called gay. But we were having a gay old time and had plans to cheeba together some time. Having that conversation is probably the last thing I remember clearly.

Apparently, a little after that, I got kicked out of the bar. (The bar in the most recent post where that white girl tried to beat me up). I don't know why I got kicked out but I'm pretty sure I exchanged some words with the bouncer after he told me to leave.

Then I ran outside and started knocking over the trashcans outside the bar. I remember feeling genuinely angry about getting kicked out. I was in the tasmanian devil stage. I had left my purse in the bar so I told Peter to retrieve it. By the time he came out with it, he said I was yelling at a group of white people calling them "white trash mother fuckers." Over and over again. I don't know what these white people did to me but they were on the patio behind these bars that I couldn't get over so I think I tried to attack them THROUGH the gate. I remember someone throwing a drink on me (but Peter doesn't). I might have imagined that. But they were definitely needling my anger, which is a completely natural response of immature college students. (I was 100% the provoker, I realize that. But I doubt a group of middle-aged adults would have even responded if some drunken idiot was yelling racial epitaphs at them for no reason). This enraged me even more.

Then a police officer materialized out of nowhere. According to the police report (which I will post shortly) he heard me yelling while he was driving by so he stopped to see what was going on. Peter said he saw the police man approaching so he tried to put me in a full-body hold and drag me to the cab which he had hailed during my tirade. I'm sorry but Peter barely tops out at 5'6 and I'm pretty sure I weigh more than him. So he was no match for an adrenaline/alcohol-pumped me. Plus, I elbowed him in the face and he fell down. I yelled at the police officer telling him to "stay away you white devil." Well, here is the police officer's side:

He wasn't even white! He was Latino. Oops. And 'several officers' my ass. There were 7 cop cars that came to assist. Goddamn. I'm just one skinny Asian girl.

So after all that, he charged me with:

Second Degree Assault on a Police Officer
Second Degree Assault
among 3 others....which didn't stick.

The first one is a felony.

I was carted off to a Hyattsville jail where (and this is what I kinda remember) I then harassed a black cop. He tried to put me in a cell with three other women. I grabbed the toilet paper off the disgusting cell toilet and threw it at him. Then I yelled, "You're the reason why there are so many black men in prison. How does it feel to lock up your own kind?!" I also called him ugly and fat. I think he beat me up because next morning, I had a HUGE bruise on my right bicep (which I didn't even notice until I went to the 2nd jail). He handcuffed me so tight that my wrists and ankles were swollen. He handcuffed my wrists to a chain around my waist and then handcuffed me to a bench where I stayed immobile for like 3 hours til I saw the commissioner. Then I stayed in another stinky cell until 9 am.

At that point, I thought I was going to be able to go home. Then the female police officer told me I was going to another jail where I could get bonded out. When I got to the 2nd place, I had to walk in a room filled with crazy men and women in my booty white shorts. I felt so... exposed. I felt like EVERYONE was staring at me (which they were). I changed into that orange prisoner garb...and then I stayed in that room on a chair for... 12 FUCKING hours, not knowing what the hell was going on. When I finally asked the guard, they said that we were supposed to find a bondsman and get our bond paid...otherwise, we'd stay in jail until our bond hearing.

Well, my bond didn't go through til Monday fucking morning. So I stayed in the jail cell for 2 nights with CUH-RAZY women who would yell through the night and then be dead-set on watching Joel Osteen in the morning. But I'm guessing it was a pretty typical jail experience so I won't talk about it much except that I ate foods that probably shortened my life by a year.

I got out at Monday noon. I came out SMILING because I was SO happy to get out of there.

And that's what happened.

This is one of 209348093284 bruises I got from getting manhandled by the popo.

I mean, obviously, I know I'm fucked. I need to get a lawyer pronto and I'm expecting to spend thousands of dollars on this. But I'm not angry at anyone except myself. I'm very defeated against this drinking problem. I don't know what to do. In Atlanta, I got a lot of support. But that support won't push me to stop. I think I'll take Karleen's advice and do baby steps. I can't do the cold turkey thing because there's so many reasons tied into why I do what I do. It sounds very trivial the way I'm explaining it but trust me, I'm doing a lot of thinking about this issue...behind the scenes...revisiting issues that I thought I had worked through.

And I have to do allllll of this while being crazy fucking busy with schoolwork. I could so easily freak out right now but I'm not.

My court date is May 7th.


  1. You don't stop because you don't want to. You make excuses. You tried that one program, but you didn't like it so you went to AA, which was more to your liking. You're not supposed to like it and it's not supposed to be convenient for you. "I can't stop, because _____." Those reasons are obviously worth going to jail for and spending thousands on lawyers. Try finding a healthy way to deal with things.

    You're trying to find a solution that makes it easy for you, but there isn't an easy solution. You drink knowing what will happen, because you don't want to stop. You don't want to stop because you want to do what you want to.

  2. You say some dumb things to cops!!! Once your locked up, dont insult cops cause they will punch you in the face and the next person that does it the following day. America is a good place. Noone likes a rude drunk. Some people drink and have fun. Some people drink and become someone else. These people need to give it up.... I like you. Oh and it says your a 140 pounds! is that true?

  3. This kinda makes me sad. You need a lawyer fo' real! A felony is no joke. you may be able to have it dropped to a misdemeanor. I think you need to adopt beer as the only drink you can have when going out. It's much easier to control your intoxication level with beer. You're such a badass chica, you don't need to be going to jail for stupid shit like this. Being a violent drunk isn't proving anything to anyone. Sounds like you have some deep rooted personal issues that surface when you get drunk. That bruise is kinda hott and makes me wanna spank you for being so irresponsible and disorderly. Not in a good way either, shit needs to hurt. At this rate you'll soon be on COPS with all the other drunk trash. Be smart Ira, because you are.

  4. *hides face in sand* I know. And Anon #1 is right. I don't want to stop. But I have to. I don't know what else to say except I wish all the alcohol in this world would disappear.

    I actually weigh 135 pounds. I think my hair weighs 2. So really, I weigh about 133. I fluctuate between 130-135.